A Carefully Constructed Mask
by AutobotCopperShadow
Summary: Alfred Kirkland-Bonnefoy is cracking at the seams. His father, Francis Bonnefoy, has multiple affairs with other women, and his dad just drinks it all away. His brother does too many drugs to count, and Alfred hides everything behind a hazy mask, but it's crumbling. Full summary inside.


**Hello, my darlings! How do you today? I hope you enjoy this one shot. I needed to take a break from my story, and after hearing Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez, I simply had to write this down. Thanks for reading!**

 **Summary: Alfred Kirkland-Bonnefoy is cracking at the seams. His father, Francis Bonnefoy, has multiple affairs with other women, and his dad drinks it all away. What makes it worse is his older brother, hoping to get away from the tragedy, starts to do drugs. Slowly, Alfred's carefully constructed mask crumbles. Nobody evens notices, that is, until one fateful day changes the entire course of the family.**

* * *

3rd POV

Alfred sat up, his face still stained with the trails of wet tears. The white trails cut through the tanned face, and his eyes were red. Of course, he knew nobody would notice. His brother was high, and his father was... out. His dad wouldn't be out of his room in a while, for how bad he was hammered. He slowly, and carefully pulled the towel out from underneath his crumpled pillow, and wiped it across his face.

Setting the towel back down, he trailed his fisted hand along the curling sides of the wallpaper. It appeared perfect to the simple glance, but in an depth look would reveal the mold hidden behind the royal blue colored wallpaper. Just like their family. Shaking his head, Alfred turned to the clock and stepped into his shoes and pulled on his jacket. Waving to his brother curled on the couch, he closed the dark door behind him and ran over to his bike.

The mountain bike had served him well, since he had gotten it on one Christmas when they were all what they appeared to be. Nodding at his friend, Kiku, as he rode past, Alfred followed the familiar dirt path, carved by thousands of bikes and feet once upon a time. When he approached the bend, he turned to the overgrown path and pulled his bike into the bushes. Pulling his knees up with every step, Alfred maneuvered through the leaf and flower filled path. The huge abandoned building ahead of him pulled a smile from his face.

The door was already cracked open, and Alfred easily pushed it open, revealing a high ceiling and a molded blanket. Looking down upon the blanket, Alfred smiled remembering what had conspired after they left the blanket that day.

"Alfred!" Matthew flung his arms around his younger brother. "Have you seen the polar bear blanket?" Pushing his brother's arms away, Alfred shook his head, and tears gathered in the 8 year old's eyes. Francis rushed over, picking up Matthew, and hugging him.

"It's okay, dear Mathieu." The Frenchman soothed him. Holding him upon his hip, like a small child, Francis leaned down and plucked a kiss onto the six year old's forehead.

Alfred squealed in happiness, pushing away his papa's face. "Papa, that tickles!" Francis chuckled and Alfred clutched his pant leg as he lead them to their Matthew and Alfred's shared bedroom. The pretty blue wallpaper memorized Alfred as Francis slipped him inside his bed's covers. As his father slipped out of the room, Alfred could almost detect a frown, and he turned in his covers, facing the wall.

To think, that soon to everything would crash and burn like the fireworks that surrounded their neighborhood during the Fourth of July. Sighing sadly, Alfred looked down at the things on the blanket. A stuffed gritty gray polar bear toy. A set of train tracks and and train. A small stuffed brown rabbit. Picking up the rabbit, Alfred pet the top of it's dirty head.

Putting it back down, Alfred went on to explore the back room. Smiling in sad happiness, (?), Alfred looked at the darkly colored room. The rotted wood and moldy wallpaper made the room made dank. He crinkled his nose in disgust, then stepped to an object in the back of the room. The black bathtub was dirty, but Alfred pulled out a box of wet wipes. Carefully washing it down and removing the spiderwebs, Alfred hummed a lullaby to himself.

'Tomorrow.' Alfred pulled himself onto his feet when the tub looked pristine. He went into a back room, looking for the one item he knew would be there. (He had been gathering things for weeks.) Pulling the broom with him, he quickly brushed leaves and spiderwebs away from the room's floor and walls. 'Tomorrow, they'll regret all they had ever done.'

Smiling devilishly, Alfred put everything away, then walked back the way he came to his bike.

* * *

Next Day, 5:00pm

Alfred smiled, satisfied, as he wrote the note that would lead the, there. When he finished, he signed his name lavishly, then put the pen away. School had been a bore, as it always was. Alfred thought high school was supposed to be filled with stereotypes and FUN! But no, all he got was boring days and endless homework. Of course, he should have suspected it. To think, in elementary school he had been a happy child, filled with light. Alfred snickered and looked. Yes, everything was going along to plan. Arthur, Francis, and Matthew were out eating at a fancy restaurant in the middle of town.

Putting the note, written in unmissable letters, Alfred crept into his parents bedroom and to their closet. The huge lavish bed in the middle was a regal red, with the dark wood complimenting it. Ah, Alfred would've liked to be an interior designer, creating wonderful rooms for people, getting praise from more than drunk or stoned people. No... Alfred shook and head and focused. Creeping over to the silver safe imbedded into the wall, Alfred entered the passcode.

When the safe successfully cracked open, Alfred ignored the money and pulled out the object he needed. To think his father's most precious possession would be the thing to show them. Alfred cackled loudly. Walking straight out of the house, Alfred grabbed his bike, placing the silver object in his sweater, and rocketing past all the picture perfect families in their picture perfect houses with their picture perfect yards in the picture perfect town of theirs. 'Nothing was perfect', Alfred mused in his head. 'Nothing.'

When the beaten path appeared in Alfred's vision, he smirked and hid the bike in plain sight. They would see it and follow his path. Then, they would all see their mistakes. Fingering the metal, along with the paper and pen, in his pocket, Alfred sighed unhappily, stepping into the mansion. Following yesterday's path, he came upon the bathroom, pristine as he had left it. The walls were still a mess, but nothing could be perfect, now could it?

With a heavy sigh, Alfred began what would be one of his last actions.

Francis Bonnefoy and Arthur Kirkland stopped their argument abruptly as they stared at the note on the fridge. Arthur's resolve crumbled. "Alfred?" He called out to the house, stopping once he realized there would be no reply back. With trembling hands, Arthur began to read the rest of the note.

 **I'M SORRY**

 **Dad. I bet you never imagined that your life would turn out like this. Living as a drunk, with a drugged out son and and an unfaithful husband. I didn't want it to turn out like this. You'll find me in the place where Matthew and I played as children. Once again, I'm sorry.**

 **Papa. Why do you not like this family? Why do you leave everyday for different women, inconsiderate of how your family feels? I think I will never truly hate you Papa, but I feel something close to it. Please papa, do not leave me again. I won't leave any of you, I know that for certain.**

 **Matthew, my older brother. I idolized you when we were kids. You've since broken that trust. But don't worry, you'll see me again. But not here. You know where to find me.**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Alfred F. Kirkland-Bonnefoy**

* * *

With a horrified glance at Matthew and Francis, Arthur gathered up a bit of blankets and staggered out to the blue minivan. Francis and Matthew followed behind him as they too, exchanged horrified glances, wondering what Alfred was doing out by the abandoned old mansion. As soon as Arthur had started to the car, he began to interrogate Matthew.

"What does he mean, Matthew?" Arthur asked, frustrated, as the car swerved because of Arthur holding the wheel so tightly. His knuckles were white on the black leather of the steering wheel cover. "Where did he go?"

Matthew coughed, then looked guilty. "We-we used to play up a-at the old mansion down the hill. You know, the one with the family that all died?" Arthur gasped, looking like he would have a heart attack any second. Francis laughed, before leaning back and whispering in Matthew's ear. Matthew's eyes widened and he nodded, face white. Arthur watched the exchange with narrow eyes, but didn't say anything, as they were in front of a path, and Matthew suddenly yelled out, "STOP!" The car screeched with extortion as Arthur applied the break.

Arthur stared, face ashen, at the overgrown area. He could faintly see the edge of a sign, and when he got out and brushed away the plants in front, he could faintly read 'No Trespassing' With a shake of his head, Arthur turned to Matthew, who was walking down a plant-filled path. Before Arthur could say anything, he heard a crack in the air. Widening his eyes, he raced ahead of Matthew, coming to stop in front of the huge mansion.

Rushing inside, he came to a stop in front of an ornate door, the only clean area in the entire house. When he opened the door a fraction and looked inside, he slammed it and then leaned over and threw up. Matthew rushed over and pulled Arthur away from the thing he had seen. But a glance at the tub stopped Matthew in his tracks. "Alfred?" He softly whispered, grief thickening his voice as he gently set down Arthur on the ground. Francis hovered just outside the door as Matthew leaned closer. "Little brother?"

Collapsing with grief when nobody answered him, Matthew wailed and screamed at the sky, with sadness at his brother's suicide, and anger at whatever had caused this. He didn't, of course, realize that he was the reason for Alfred's pain. Francis, gently, went over to Arthur and Matthew's sides and pulled them out to the car. With a shake of his head, he went back into the house and slowly grabbed his other son's shoulders. "Oh, Alfred. My poor son..." He set Alfred down in the backseat, next to Matthew, whose hand reached and began stroking Alfred's hair.

With shock, Francis sat in the front seat of the van and joined Arthur and Matthew in their grief-filled cries.

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 **How'd you like it? I'm working on chapter 7 for A Killer In Our Midst right now, so just you wait for that!**


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